Song of the Huntress and the Blade
by Cruellae
Summary: Fragments of the love story between the Dalish huntress and the Antivan assassin.
1. Chapter 1

She took him into the forest.

And she taught him, as she might a Dalish child, to read the wind's fickle currents, to leap from tree to tree across the canopy of the forest, to read the footprints of halla and wolves and even werewolves, to step gently and soundlessly on the springy ground.

It awakened something in him and he wondered if all elves had this hidden affinity for wilderness, for the verdant canopy of the forest and the secret wonders of its inhabitants.

He tried to repay her the only way he knew how, that night, with an offer of the kind of massage one only learns growing up in an Antivan whorehouse.

She hesitated. He ran a thumb over her lips and she parted them just enough for him to feel the heat of her breath, the wetness of her mouth.

She wanted him, that much was obvious. Zevran was of course an expert at reading such signs, but even if he wasn't, he would be able to pick up on this.

She pulled away.

"Not tonight," she said, her silky steel voice hesitant, uncontrolled. It was not the voice of the woman who commanded their ragtag group thorough sheer will. It was soft, uncertain.

"Of course," he said. "I am sorry if I offended you." Zevran surprised himself by being hurt.

"No," she said. "Never. I…I want to be with you."

"Then let me pleasure you," he said. "I assure you, I am quite skilled in such matters."

Once, Zevran had come upon a sparrow, a strange sight in the city streets. Although he was hungry, and not well fed, he'd held out the crust of his bread to the bird. It had regarded him, head tilted, hungry but afraid.

Much as Eve was regarding him now, her want clearly visible in her eyes, making them so dark the iris was as black as the pupil.

"I will not hurt you," he said. "I gave you my oath, and I will not go back on it."

"I know."

She took a deep breath, let her eyes run over the curves of the tattoos on his face, soft and sweeping like brushstrokes, so different from the intricate lines that webbed her own face.

"I am sorry," she said, and darted away, back to the safety of the campfire and her company, leaving Zevran confused.

It had been months since someone shared his bed, and the absence of physical contact left an aching he recognized from childhood. He was tempted to slip into Leliana's tent some nights, for when the bard glanced at him over the campfire, her eyes were full of understanding. And yet he held back.

For in truth he desired only the Warden.


	2. Chapter 2

As the Warden's party hurried down the deserted stretch of road, lured in by the trap Zevran had set, he did not see the Warden herself among him.

In fact, there were no elves at all in the small group. Just a mage with glinting eyes draped in a deep red, her skin exposed to the sunlight, a blonde warrior in plate, a prince in shining armor if there ever was one, and a lovely woman who made even leather armor mold to her curves and wore it like a fine Orlesian gown.

The "bandits" leaped from hiding and threw themselves at the group. They were competent fighters, the mage casting freezing everything in wide arcs, the warrior bellowing, his shield striking out for a devastating blow, the archer in the back accurate and deadly.

Zevran held back and waited for the Warden.

He caught a glimpse of dark hair from the corner of his eye and in a sudden fluid movement she appeared and was upon him. They both wielded two daggers, hers curved with wooden handles carved in intricate elven lettering, his the thin, razor sharp style favored by the Crows.

"I have been looking for you for quite some time now," he said as he slid his daggers in sideways, hoping to catch her off guard.

No such luck. She flipped her wrists and blocked both blows, pushing him backwards with the force of her thrust.

They stood a foot apart and she nodded at him, but said nothing.

Again he thrust and again she merely drove him back, her mouth a grim line as she watched him recover and return to his battle stance.

"I see the prowess of the Grey Wardens is not exaggerated," he said. "I would have never expected a woman as lovely as you to be so deadly." He hoped to catch her off guard, but she never faltered.

"You are a liar as well as an assassin," she replied as she turned in a graceful arc to avoid his sweeping blades.

She was not lovely, not in the normal sense of full luscious lips and large sultry eyes. Her hair fell down her back and flew in all directions as she spun and dipped in the cadence of the battle. Her eyes were so dark they were almost black, her lips thin and stern, her whole face narrow, high haughty cheekbones and angular cheeks. She was not lovely, but as she danced her melody of death, she was truly beautiful.

The cries of their companions, the whoosh of the mage's spells, the hiss of arrows and the thunks of weapons connecting with armored flesh were all muted as the two rogues circled each other. In another life, in another world, this would have been the moment two young nobles spotted each other across a ballroom and time stood still as they gazed into each other's eyes.

But if such a moment were to happen to Zevran, it made sense it would happen as he swung his blades forward, desperate to find a weak spot in the Warden's graceful ballet. If such a moment were to happen to Zevran, it would almost certainly end in death.

And death came, out of the corner of his eye he saw that the knight in shining armor had noticed them, and he began to move forward, running, shield held high.

He turned to face the onslaught and one of the Warden's blades found its way into his shoulder. How strange indeed that it did not slip into his back and seek out his heart, he thought as he slumped and fell to her knees, brought down by the Dalish poison she made.

When he woke he was warm. That was strange in the cold and dog-smelling land of Ferelden he'd come to hate in the past few weeks.

He opened his eyes. He was bound at the arms and legs, his weapons gone. He tested the knots before he was fully awake and found them unyielding. He focused his gaze and found himself looking into the eyes of the blonde knight, who faced him with a withering scowl.

"He's awake," the knight called out.

The Warden came forward out of the shadows. She knelt by him and untied his hands and legs. He rubbed his aching wrists.

"What are you doing?" said the knight.

"If he tries anything, you'll knock him out, obviously," she said.

"I still think it would be better to leave him tied up."

"I don't want to hurt him."

"You don't want to hurt him? The man who just tried to kill you?"

"Ah, I see," said Zevran, a little annoyed as the two debated as though he wasn't there. "You," he pointed at the knight, "are the bad interrogator. And you" a wave at the Warden, "are the kind one. The Crows use this technique often. You needn't bother, however. I will tell you whatever you wish to know."

The Warden asked him all the predictable questions, such as who wanted her dead, who did he work for, and where he was from.

He wished to die, but he did not wish it to be painful, so he answered all her questions without hesitation.

The Warden turned to the knight.

"Leave," she said.

The knight frowned. "Leave you alone with him?"

She nodded. The knight's frown deepened, but he did not disobey. As he walked away he said, "First sound of trouble and I come running."

The Warden turned toward Zevran and was silent.

He grinned. "Is this the part where you torture me, then? Or did you wish to take advantage of the helpless and rather handsome elf?"

"You're cocky," she said. "But you are good."

"Indeed," he said. "One of the best Crows, I am certain. But still I am apparently no match for a Grey Warden."

"These Crows," she said, "what will they do when they know you have failed?"

"They will kill me, of course. You know, as an example to others and to save their reputation."

"I see."

"So you may kill me now and save them the trouble if you wish. If not, I have a proposition for you."

"I do not wish to kill you."

"And I do not wish to die," he said, realizing as he spoke it was true. Perhaps his desire to live was that tenacious and strong, for he had already survived where many others had fallen. And there was something to this elf, something that intrigued him, pulled at him, woke him from the despair he had carried since Rinna died.

"Let me come with you," he said. "I am quite skilled, as you have seen."

"And so modest," she said, her voice so dry and deadpan it took him a moment to realize she was actually making a joke.

"Yes," he smiled. "That too, of course. And if you do not wish for me to fight, I can always clean armor, or warm your bed, or simply stand around and look pretty, if you wish."

"Will you try to kill me again?"

"I think not. You see, I never had a choice about joining the Crows. I was sold to them at the age of six, for quite a bargain or so I hear. But the only way to leave is to sign up with someone they can't touch. And I believe we have come to the conclusion that you are one of those few."

"Okay," she said. Zevran blinked. Was that all? No warnings about poisoning her food, no threats, not even an elaboration on what he was supposed to do.

"I…thank you," he said.

She stood up and reached a hand down towards him and helped him up.

"I am your man," he said. "Until you have no more need of me. This I swear." He surprised himself by how much he meant it.

She nodded and led him back to a larger campfire where her companions sat, all gazing eagerly at her, waiting for news.

Zevran carefully inspected each one. For he and the Warden were equally matched, equally strong and skilled. But he had at his back paid mercenaries who cared little if he lived or died, who each fought their own battle, ignoring their comrades. At her back, the Warden had a pack, who, like wolves, fought as one, each heeding the other's movements to take down a beast ten times their size. The Warden had a pack of companions who each would follow her into hell itself.

He might succeed in killing the Warden, if he poisoned her food or caught her alone in the dead of night, but her companions were never far, and he would not survive their revenge.

The pragmatic thing was to follow her and see where she led.

He kept his oath merely as a matter of survival. It had nothing to do with her deadly grace, her black eyes, her gentle hands on his skin as she untied the ropes holding him back. It was purely a matter of survival, and Zevran always survived.

Author's Note: I love reviews! Let me know what you think, and send suggestions if there's any particular scene you'd like to see!


	3. Chapter 3

The night after they saved the Dalish was different.

It started out like most nights had since they'd been in the Deep Roads, Zevran slipping into the Warden's tent much less stealthily than he really could be, because he wanted the others to take notice. He was proud of his latest conquest, her intensity and ferocity made her a prize worth winning.

And they began by kissing, lips parted, tongues intertwining until they both were breathless. He helped her to undo the fastenings on his clothing, but when his hands went to hers, she pushed them away.

"Tonight is about you, Zev," she said.

He blinked at her, unsure of her meaning.

"Lay down," she said, "on your back."

He complied. He heard her open a vial and then she was rubbing some sort of oil over his shoulders and back. It must have been some Dalish thing, it smelled like trees and wind.

He lay there, forcing himself to be still as dexterous fingers explored his back, running over his muscles, soothing them.

It was not easy to lie still and let her touch him. Zevran had always known he was a commodity, a valuable one perhaps, but a commodity all the same. And he had survived all these years by constantly proving his value to whoever held the power—it was never him. In sex, he preferred to give as good as he got, or better if possible, so that whoever it was would see the value in keeping him around. And he wanted the Warden to keep him around. Desperately.

And yet, it felt so good. She was running her fingertips over him now, having massaged his back and legs, he could feel the light caress travel from his neck to his calves, and he shuddered a little despite himself. He shuddered a little more when kisses replaced the fingers. And then she stopped.

"Turn over," she said, a smile in her voice.

What could he do but obey.

Her eyes roamed over him in the dim light of the tent.

"You are beautiful," she said. The intensity and raw sincerity of the compliment held back his cocky reply.

Her movements were slow and deliberate as she rubbed that Dalish oil over his chest and legs. When she was done she sat back for a moment, a half-smile on her face, just looking at him.

He rose on his elbows and began to reach for her, but steady arms pushed him back down.

"Not yet," she said.

She ran her fingertips over him in the same maddening fashion, then replaced them with her lips. She kissed up the insides of his thighs and he sighed. Then she let her tongue slide up from his knee to his groin, evoking a subtle moan.

And then she took him in her mouth. The warmth of it and the wetness nearly drove him over the edge right there. Only his unusual self control and the twinge of fear in the pit of his stomach held him back.

Zevran was no blushing virgin, but this was a pleasure he rarely experienced. It required a certain amount of vulnerability. He'd had several rather sadistic lovers who would certainly take advantage of such a situation.

But this was his Warden. Certainly she…

His thoughts faded away as she started to do incredible things with that tongue of hers. He moaned again, this time much louder. Her lips were soft and plush and yet they held him so tightly.

Even his famous self control could not keep him from thrusting up into her mouth as he reached the end. She sped up her pace and his fear was banished as pleasure ran like hot currents through his veins.

Afterwards, she licked her lips and curled up next to him, looking rather smug.

"Where did you learn such tricks?" he asked her.

She smiled but did not answer, and he remembered a few days ago watching her speak to Leliana, the Warden blushing, the bard enthusiastically gesturing as though teaching her something.

He grinned and kissed her. His hands and lips started to travel over her body, but she stopped him.

"Not tonight," she said, completely serious. "Tonight is about you."

And the fear was back. Not the fear of pain, but the fear of being found unworthy, not worth the trouble of keeping around. And beneath that, the fear that the Warden might discard him. He knew she would not kill him, but yet that fear was the most powerful.

He fumbled with his clothes. She watched him, her eyes confused but gentle, ready to accept anything he wished to say, as on that first night, her first night, she had been ready to accept anything he wished to do.

"Thank you, my dear Warden," he said, his smooth voice still a bit breathless. "That was lovely." He tried to sound flippant, casual, but his hasty exit from her tent belied his tone.

He did not have to look back to know she was watching him walk away, this time with all the stealth he could manage.

Author's note: I'm not great at writing this sort of thing, so give me some feedback on how I can make it better!


	4. Chapter 4

Morrigan and Eve walked back toward the camp after a successful hunt together, several juicy rabbits richer.

"You know, Warden," said Morrigan, "You should just bed the foolish elf and get it over with."

Eve actually stumbled a bit. "I…I mean…"

"How did I know? 'Tis obvious. You're always gaping at him, blushing when he makes ridiculous remarks."

"Am I really that obvious?"

"Even Alistair knows, and that man is thicker than mud in a swamp."

"I didn't realize."

"Just take him to bed and get this foolishness out of your system, would be my advice."

Eve turned to Morrigan, her closest female friend by far, the two of them bound together by their nightly hunt and their love of the wild.

"Why do I want him so much?" she said. "He is reckless and lecherous and city bred on top of it all."

"He is handsome enough, I suppose. But you are right about the rest."

"He is a hunter. And he is an elf. But beyond that…"

"Well, better him than that moronic templar you insist on dragging along with us."

Coming from Morrigan, this was as good as a blessing.

"I cannot just bed him, though."

"You most certainly can. 'Tis simple enough, and I'm certain the silly bard would instruct you should you need guidance."

"I don't need…guidance! I know how it works."

"Look at you, the famed Grey Warden, a blushing virgin." Morrigan's tone was delighted, amused.

"I'm Dalish. Of course I'm a virgin."

"I do not see what that has to do with it."

"For the Dalish, sex is not something to be taken lightly. It is a bond, a sacred act, meant to tie two elves together for life."

"How quaint, and sweet," said Morrigan, mocking, but gently. She knew the customs of the wild elves were not something to be taken lightly. "But I see your point. It would not mean the same thing at all to Zevran."

"No," said Eve, and the two walked in silence for a while.

"What does it mean to you?" asked Eve.

"Sex?" said Morrigan, "It would mean little to me, I would think."

"You would think? You mean you've never?"

"I have yet to find a man worthy of such attentions." Morrigan raised her chin, frowning.

Eve grinned. "The famed witch of the wilds, a virgin," she said.

"Watch your tone, Warden." Morrigan's tone was harsh, but there was no real malice in it.

"You could always bed Alistair," said Eve.

"Now there's a thought," said the witch. "My mother did instruct me to kill the man afterwards. Perhaps a few minutes of sex would be worth it."

"It is always worth it, my lovelies," said Zevran as the two approached the perimeter of the camp. "If you like, I can demonstrate."

"Begone, fool, before I turn you to a toad," said Morrigan, scowling. She grabbed a single rabbit from Eve and walked swiftly over to her own campfire, leaving the two elves alone.

"So tell me, dear Warden, what was it you and Morrigan were so intently speaking about?"

Eve blushed and stared at Zevran's boots, trying not to let her traitorous eyes roam over his body.

"Nothing," she said.

"I can only imagine what two beautiful women like yourself can get up to, all alone in the darkened forest. It makes my patrols much more interesting."

Eve's eyes wandered of their own accord over his legs, lingering on his groin, and then up to his face.

"I…need to get some spices," she said. "For cooking the rabbit."

She darted away and back to her tent.

Author's Note: I just made that up about the Dalish. Necessary for my plot. Hope you enjoyed this bit! It's hard to get Morrigan in character.


	5. Chapter 5

Zevran was not at all surprised when Taliesin stepped out of the shadows in one of Denerim's back alleyways, flanked by several other Crows.

He had known for some time that afternoon that someone was following him, waiting for an opportune moment to strike. And he had a relatively good idea who that someone might be.

He should have warned the Warden, he knew this, and yet he couldn't bring himself to speak to her. Fear twisted itself into an ugly knot in his stomach, and shame accompanied it, the shame that he was not master of his fear.

After everything the Crows had done to him, taught him, he could still feel fear.

He did not fear death, no, that was a fear laid to rest long ago. He knew he was expendable, had known since a young age, and accepted it with an easy grace.

He feared the moment when the Warden would have to decide whether he was worth her time.

"I am here, Taliesin," he said, walking forward with a cocky swagger to hide his apprehension.

Taliesin made his offer, an offer Zevran had been expecting. He glanced at the Warden. Was he worthy of her time, her protection? Had he proven himself valuable enough, been charming enough, deadly enough?

She stepped forward, face grim as always.

"Zevran is with me," she said.

Taliesin grinned and twirled his daggers, a talent he learned for the sole purpose of intimidation.

"Is that so?" he drawled, leering at his old lover.

"I am sorry, my friend," said Zevran, relief filling his chest. "You should not have come."

He drew his blades. He had killed Rinna for this man, the least he could do was slay Taliesin to prove himself to the Warden.

Taliesin's allies charged. They were real Crows, not the incompetent bandits Zevran had hired when he made his attack on the Warden's life.

Morrigan stood in the back, behind Alistair, freezing enemies in place and occasionally sighing and grimacing if she had to cast a healing spell.

Alistair did what he did best, leaped into the fray, shield swinging, blindingly bright. He yelled and bashed things with his shield and generally caused chaos, drawing all fire towards himself.

Eve slunk around to the exposed backs of the fighters desperately trying to get around Alistair's shining shield. Her daggers caught the light for only a second before they were covered in blood.

Zevran held back and waited for Taliesin to show himself. The Crow did not disappoint, charging towards Eve, more recklessly than he should have, for Zevran was able to slip himself between the Warden and the assassin, knocking Taliesin backwards.

The Crow recovered gracefully and swung at Zevran, scowling.

"I knew you would take aim at the Warden," said Zevran, as he parried Taliesin's thrusts, the look on the Crow's face so intent it took Zevran back to other times, very different circumstances.

"You were always the jealous type," Zevran goaded, encouraging Taliesin to attack him.

"Of her? Ha! You've definitely gone blind, my lover," said Taliesin. "At least Rinna was pretty, if a little conniving."

Taliesin's remark had the intended effect. Zevran lunged forward, throwing himself off balance in an attempt to get a heavy strike in. Taliesin's blade found its way to his shoulder, cutting to the bone.

He dropped one of his daggers and did his best to parry with the other one, but Taliesin's attacks were relentless now, and he was injured, loosing blood, and getting sloppy.

And then the Warden was there, her dark hair flying every which way as she managed to catch Taliesin's forearm and draw blood.

"You're a fool, Grey Warden," said the Crow, gasping a little as she continued to test him, darting around him like a minnow, seeking his vulnerable spots and weaknesses. "Sticking out your neck for Zevran. He's a Crow and he will always be a Crow, no matter how hard he tries to become something else."

"Perhaps," said the Warden, her face as expressionless as ever. "We shall see. Or I will, in any case. I doubt you'll live to see the sunset."

"He will kill you, in the end."

The Warden frowned, and pressed the attack again, driving Taliesin backwards until he found himself stumbling. She slit his throat with one smooth sweep.

"We shall see," she said.

The team mopped up the rest of the stragglers, none of whom were as talented as Taliesin. Morrigan healed his shoulder with a sigh that announced to the world just how put upon she was, forced to heal when her true talent lay in setting things on fire.

Alistair and Morrigan walked on ahead, and Eve followed them a few steps behind.

Zevran regarded the corpse of his lover thoughtfully.

"Goodbye, old friend," he said, and walked quickly to catch up to his companions.

"A moment, if I might, Warden," he said.

She stopped and gestured to the others to go on ahead.

"Of course," she said.

"With Taliesin dead the Crows will now believe I am also dead, unless someone tells them otherwise."

"Good," she said, but she did not look happy.

"I suppose I have options now, where I had none before."

She nodded. "I will not hold you to your oath, should you wish to go."

"It is a little strange…for the first time in my life may go where I like."

She looked at him. Her chin was set, her eyes dark and wet. Her voice was steady, but there was an undercurrent to it Zevran couldn't quite decipher. "And where would you like to go?"

He should have taken that moment to walk away. He brought death to those closest to him, to Rinna, to Taliesin. He knew he would inevitably bring it to the Warden.

"You wish me to stay?"

She frowned. "Is it that obvious?"

"Only to me."

"Yes, of course I wish you to stay, Zev. But I wish you to be free, to go where you like. And there is a good chance I will not come back from this alive. If you wish to leave, I will understand."

Zevran gestured to the remains of the Crow, body cooling in the afternoon sunlight, blood spilling onto the sandy alleyway. "He was my lover too, you know. And Rinna. It is as though death follows me, as though I am cursed to kill the ones I care for."

The Warden smiled. "I am not afraid of death," she said. "Stay. Please."

He took a breath. The Warden did not fear death, and she did not fear him. And if he brought her danger, she would face it and defeat it, as always.

"I believe I will," he said, slowly. It was the first decision he was making as a free man, and he wanted to do it right. "Killing the Archdemon seems a worthy goal, no?"

The Warden pressed him up against the wall, kissing him as hard as she could. He let his hands travel over her back and through her hair until she pulled away, breathless and blushing.

"And there are so many delights I have yet to show you, my Warden," he said, hands sliding under her leather tunic. "I cannot possibly leave just yet."


	6. Chapter 6

In the Deep Roads, there were no living beings that weren't twisted and tainted into something unrecognizable and evil. There were no trees, no flowing water, no sunlight. And for the first time in her life, the Warden felt despair.

Cut off from the steady, almost imperceptible link to the living soil the Dalish often cultivated, she was lost. Like a forest fern, she wilted without in the sunless tunnels of the Dwarves.

During the days—which could hardly be called days without the passage of the sun across the sky—she tried to be the fearless leader. She drew strength from her companions and the importance of her mission.

But in the evenings, she became listless, empty, restless. Only when her eyes flickered to Zevran did she feel any spark of life at all.

Was it because he was an elf? No, that could not be it. He was city born and raised, he had no more connection to the world of wild things than any of their human companions.

In the firelight, in the dark of the deep roads, as they sat, he keeping her company as she took the first watch, he was still beautiful, suntouched.

"May I ask what it is that occupies your thoughts so intensely, Warden?" he asked, scooting a little closer to her on the bench.

Her eyes flicked to his face, the lines of his chest, and then away, to the fire. And then back to his face, which wore an amused smirk. He had noticed her looking, then.

"It has been two weeks," she said, "two weeks since we have seen the sun."

"And you feel its absence keenly, my Dalish beauty?"

"Don't you?"

"I have learned to live without it. Crow training, you know. I take pleasure when it is present but I do not mourn when it is not."

"That is how you feel about most things, isn't it?" The Warden turned to face him.

"It is a pleasant enough way to live, and makes the hardships of life that much more bearable, don't you think?"

"I guess so." The Warden turned back to the fire. Here was yet another reason she should banish this man from her mind, ignore the heat that flowed through her when she stole glances at him.

But instead of gazing into the fire and ignoring Zevran until he went away, she turned back to him and raised a tentative, trembling hand to his hair. Her other hand raised to his cheek and traced the line of his tattoos. He smiled and closed his eyes, leaning into her touch.

Her lips grazed his, a bare hint of softness, and to his credit he did not try to press her further, but she saw the dark disappointment in his eyes when she pulled away.

"I...I should keep watch," she said.

"You can do so well enough without me," he said, standing. "I am tired."

In another hour Zevran was still awake, caressing the Dalish gloves the Warden had given him. He had never felt so frustrated at being pushed away. It was rare that someone rejected him, but when they did he laughed it off with good grace and went on to the next conquest.

Perhaps it was the constant presence of the Warden, fighting alongside her each day. Or perhaps it was simply that he could not puzzle out why she turned him down, when her desire for him was so evident. Or perhaps…

His tent flap opened and he quickly shoved the gloves into his pack.

The Warden was haloed by the firelight for just a second before she stepped into his tent and closed it behind her. She reached for him in the dim light, her shadow falling over him.

When she kissed him she was clumsy and urgent, until he guided her, his tongue playing with hers, his lips setting the pace.

She was in her leather armor, he in only the soft pants he slept in. He quickly sought to remedy that, unfastening her armor and tossing it to the far corner.

When she was down to her smallclothes she pulled back, suddenly shy. She crossed her arms over her chest and looked at him. He sat up and kissed her ear, running his tongue along its contours.

"There is no need for modesty, my dear," he whispered. "You are beautiful."

He put his hand on her face and slid it lower, over her neck, and she uncrossed her arms so that he could reach her breasts.

He lay back and looked her over. She trembled a little under his gaze, and a thought occurred to him.

"Is this your first time?" he asked.

She nodded.

"Do not worry," he said, as he pulled her down into his embrace. "I will be gentle."

"I know," she said.

He turned her over so he was straddling her, kissing her neck. Her hands roamed through his hair and she gasped.

He decided he rather liked that, the fearless leader, the proud huntress, helpless underneath his skilled hands.

He moved his hands lower, determined to bring forth more of those lovely sounds. One hand expertly caressed her breasts while the other moved lower, running up her thighs and finding her already delightfully moist.

Her gasps deepened into moans as he sped up the pace of his hand, his other one traveling over her body, wandering lightly over her breasts and stomach.

She arched her back, moaning, and thrust herself against his fingers. She shuddered in his grasp and then lay back, grinning at him. He leaned over and kissed her.

"I…I didn't know it would be like that," she said, breathless.

"I am glad to be of service," he said, smug.

She sat up, still panting, and her hands went to the waistband of his pants. He helped her pull them down and she looked him over, biting her lip in a very uncharacteristic gesture. He sat still, a little disarmed by the intensity of her scrutiny.

She put a hand on his chest and let it travel downwards, gripping him and rubbing.

"Is this good?" she asked.

"Yes," he said, already a little breathless. "Quite nice."

He pushed her back down and knelt between her legs. He slid into her gently, slowly, so he wouldn't hurt her.

She cried out, tightening around him and raising her hips towards him. Encouraged, he sped up his thrusts. It was intoxicating. She shuddered beneath him, more vulnerable than he'd ever seen anyone. She wrapped her legs around his waist and looked into his eyes. He turned his away, buried his face in her neck, kissing and licking.

"Zev" she gasped, writhing beneath him, and he knew she was close. He licked her ear, taking her over the edge and she cried out again. Only then did he allow himself pleasure, losing himself in her wet warmth, gasping.

They lay together for a few moments, both breathless and flushed.

"I didn't know…I didn't realize you could…I mean, two times?" she said.

Zevran smirked, stretching. "When I told you I had talents," he said, "I meant it."

Author's Note: More smut…Zevran is a bad influence. Hope you enjoy it. If you don't review, a panda will cry…


	7. Chapter 7

Oath be damned, Zevran knew he should leave the Warden.

When she began to throw dark lusty glances his way, and blush at his raunchy comments, his chest tightened and warmth spread through his body, and he knew he should leave.

When he lusted after desperately, like a man in the desert facing an oasis, he knew he should leave.

When she gave him the Dalish gloves, so like his mother's, supple and strong and beautiful, he knew he should leave.

When the touch of her lips and a caress of her fingers was enough to make his breath catch in his throat, to torment him through the night, he knew he should leave.

When he bedded her, time and time again, and still desperately desired her, he knew he should leave.

When he first spent a night, sleeping in her embrace, he knew he should leave.

When they captured her and imprisoned her and he felt fear for the first time since childhood, he knew he should leave.

When he found himself _making love_ to her, he knew he should leave.

But he did not leave. He was a fool, careless to be so easily enraptured. He did not leave, and as they stood together at the gates of a besieged Denerim, the flames licking the night sky, the two elves embracing for what might be the last time, he was certain it would be the death of him.

If she did not come out the other side of that battle, it would be his end as certainly as if she had killed him when he ambushed her on the road to Redcliff months ago.

His hand went to her neck, where she wore a golden earring on a leather string.

She was leaving him behind. She was walking into hell and leaving him behind.

In all the months since he'd joined her, she had never once left him behind. He'd followed her through the Deep Roads and up the mountain to Andraste's temple and through the thick and sinister Brecilian forest. And now, in her final hour, she was leaving him behind.

She cupped his face between two golden hands, and smiled, unshed tears in her eyes.

"I love you," she said. It was the first time she'd ever said anything of the sort.

"Cruel to the end," he replied.

She turned away, but not before he could see the pain in her eyes.

He'd wanted to hurt her then, lash out at her, make her pay for what she'd done to him, but as the battle for the city raged, he regretted it.

So he followed her.

It was not hard, slipping through the city. The chaos of battle made an excellent distraction, and he was well trained to take advantage of such situations.

The Warden's trail was easy enough to follow, she left a wide berth of dead darkspawn in her wake.

He caught them at the gates of Fort Drakkon as they engaged a large group of darkspawn with the help of a team of mages.

The Warden did not say anything to him until after they had killed off the darkspawn.

"What are you doing here," she said, scowling at him. She was covered in darkspawn blood and gore, her hair matted and chaotic. She had never been more beautiful to him.

"I swore an oath," he said, "and I am a man of my word."

Her dark eyes shimmered in the light of the fires blazing around them.

"I am glad to have you with me," was all she said.

"At your side, I would storm the Black City itself. Do not doubt it."

She kissed him, then, fierce and passionate, battle still singing through her veins. And he was glad for a second that he had become such a sentimental fool.


	8. Chapter 8

Suddenly she was in the forest. A movement in the underbrush and she drew her bow, silent and graceful.

The arrow flew without a sound and came to rest in the creature's neck. The deer fell, a heavy thump breaking the reverent silence. The Warden knelt at the fallen beast and pulled her arrow from its neck. Blood spurted onto her leather armor and bare stomach.

Behind her, the soft steps of another hunter, imperceptible to most. She turned and saw Zevran, also wearing the leathers of the Dalish.

"Nice shot," he said, grinning at her. "Come, let us take this fine prize home."

They carried the kill together, Zevran leading the way. The Warden could not remember how to get to the Dalish camp, and a nagging feeling of uncertainty, of wrongness, tugged at her. But Zevran turned and smiled at her as they came to the clearing and those thoughts were banished.

They laid the deer on the ground and others came to prepare it.

"Go wash up," Zevran said to her. "I will help with the carcass."

She nodded and wandered to the nearby stream, using the sound of running water to guide her.

How strange that she could not find her way, she who had always been so at home in the forest.

She was bathing in the cool rushing water when Zevran returned, this time wearing Antivan leathers. Why the old Antivan leathers, she wondered, but banished such thoughts.

"What a lovely sight to happen upon," he said. "Today must be my lucky day."

She gave him a smile. "You see me naked every day, Zev," she said.

He seemed a little taken aback by this, confused. She did not notice.

"Come, help me bathe," she said. He stripped off his leathers and waded into the water with her. He let his hands slide over her, caressing her breasts, running over her shoulders like the barest hint of silk, combing through the long black hair that fell to her waist.

She smiled and leaned into his embrace, her back against him. He kissed her neck, working his way up to her ear. She whimpered and shivered a little in his embrace. He let his fingers wander down to her supple breasts, caressing the nipples and squeezing.

She turned, and he stood back and drank her in, her flushed cheeks, the soft smile on her lips, the curve of her body, the soft golden skin. His stare was intent, as though he was memorizing every detail. It was not the gaze of a man who had seen her this way every day for several years. Another flicker of doubt, of wrongness, ran through her head.

Determined to banish it she stepped towards him and let her hands explore him. His chest was firmly muscled and she let her hands run over him, slick with water. She moved them downwards and found he was already hard and hot. He stood there, letting her fondle and caress him, his arms at his side.

She looked at his face. His eyes were dark, but there was something there besides lust. She was determined to drive whatever thoughts bothered him away.

"The children are learning from the storyteller," she whispered in his ear. "We have some time alone."

"The children?" he said, his normal suave confidence gone, confusion and fear in its place.

"Our children," she whispered, running a hand down the side of his face. Then she kissed him, hard and passionate, and felt his tongue running over hers, caressing her. She let her mouth move lower, over his neck, tracing a trail down his chest and stomach, finishing with a few kisses on his hard length.

She took his hand and pulled him to the shore. The gleam of uncertainty still lingered in his gaze, and she was determined to banish it. She lay down, legs spread, inviting.

"I'm all wet and ready for you," she said. He knelt before her, and kissed her neck again. Warmth spread through her, flowing from his mouth to the tips of her fingers and toes. He let a hand slide between her legs.

"Please," she said. "I want to feel you inside me."

He kissed her again and she could see desire in his eyes. But suddenly he pulled away, stood up.

"What's wrong?" said the Warden, standing up and stepping towards him. "I can tell you want me," she caressed him again, trying to regain their connection.

"You are so tempting," he said. "But I cannot. I…it is not the time."

"What do you mean?" she said.

"Where do you think we are?" he asked.

"With my clan, in the forest. We were just hunting deer, and I went to clean up."

"Do you not remember the Blight? You became a Grey Warden."

She laughed. "That was years ago, love. The Blight is over, and you came home with me after."

"I'm afraid the Blight is far from over. You are a Grey Warden. You cannot let this fantasy overcome you. You are needed."

"Fantasy? What…" She looked around. The forest did seem strange, none of its usual song of tress and wind and wild things. Everything shimmered for an instant, strange and unreal. Only Zevran stayed solid.

"You are a Grey Warden," he said. "You must wake up."

Two fair haired children with dark eyes and golden skin ran up to the Warden and Zevran.

"Mama," said the older one. "It is time to eat."

The other one ran to Zevran. "Swing me, papa!" he said. Zevran took a step back from the child as though he might bite.

"You are a Grey Warden," said Zevran. "And these are not your children."

"We are so happy here," she said. "Why?'

"You have a duty," he said.

She nodded, tears welling in her eyes, but they did not spill. She pushed the children away.

"You are not mine," she said. "I have to leave."

"Don't leave us," the children wailed, and as the two elves stepped away the children shifted and became demons. Zevran and the Warden grabbed their weapons from the riverbank. The demons were not difficult to kill.

"As much as it pains me to say it, we should dress," he said.

The Warden realized she was still naked from her bath, and Zevran was as well.

"I…yeah" she said.

That night in camp, the Warden came up to Zevran, sheepish.

"I am sorry for how I behaved while…you know."

Zevran held back cocky remarks about being her fantasy.

"I too must apologize. I was sorely tempted to take advantage of you."

She nodded. "I…I don't know why it was you…in my dream. There's something about you," she raised her hand as though to touch his cheek, then pulled back.

He took her hand and caressed it, letting his fingers run over her knuckles, kneading her palm.

"You wanted me," he said. She nodded. "It is a common enough problem among women," he said, unable to hold on to the somber moment any longer. "There is only one remedy."

"I…" she gazed at him, and he could see the same lust in her eyes, "not yet."

"Soon, I hope, my lovely Warden. Until then I shall have to gaze on you from afar and pine."

She smiled and ducked into her tent.


End file.
